


Such as They

by riverlight



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Battle, Gen, RPF, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-20
Updated: 2005-01-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlight/pseuds/riverlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the night before battle, and Alexander cannot sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Such as They

"Brother," he says, ducking his head in greeting. "You wanted me?"

"Brother," Alexander replies, turning from where he is pacing in the shadows. "I did. I cannot sleep."

"Ah," Hephaistion says. "Are you thinking of tomorrow?" He steps fully into the tent, slips his sandals off to pad across the carpets.

"Aye," says Alexander tensely. "They have our supply lines. You know we must win this, brother." He scowls. "Where is that page? Page! Bring me some wine!" There is a rustle from outside the tent, and after a pause, the page comes in, rubbing his eyes. The boy is tired; it is late, and they have had a hard day. Alexander snatches the goblet he carries and gestures to dismiss him.

"Calm yourself, Alexander," Hephaistion says mildly, and sinks down on the cushions. "You know our strength. Philotas and Parmenion are capable, and we have beaten long odds before." Alexander acknowledges this with a jerk of his head, but says nothing. "Come," Hephaistion says gently. "Sit with me."

Alexander settles on the cushions beside him, but springs up almost immediately to resume his pacing. "They're across the river," he says. "We'll have to cross, and they have the advantage of numbers." This is true, and though Hephaistion will not show it, it worries him. Darius in fact has twice their number of troops, and he has them trapped between the Pinarus and the sea. They have no choice but to fight.

"What is your strategy?" he asks. He rises and crosses to where they've laid out a crude map in the sand, cairns of pebbles for the mountains and a bit of thread for the river. Alexander comes and squats beside him.

"Parmenion is on the left, along the shore," he says, scratching an X in the ground. "And the Companions will take the right, here, in the mountains." His brow is furrowed, but he no longer looks anxious, only absorbed in the complex game of strategy. Alexander is King, but it's a game that Hephaistion has always been better at, and Alexander has long since bid him speak if he sees any fault.

"What I worry about," Hephaistion says after a moment, "is Darius' cavalry, here, at the center. If we can't somehow get through their lines, the cavalry will ravage us. They'll be on the defense, they'll try to force us into a draw." Alexander nods.

"Aye, it's true. But see," he taps the sand with a finger, dislodging a few pebbles, "his Cardaces are here, on his left flank. They're inexperienced—" Hephaistion raises an eyebrow and Alexander sees it, explains. "He has them reinforced with archers. He doesn't trust them. They're young, they'll break easily."

Hephaistion thinks about it, and nods. "So you'll take the Companions through the line at the weakest point, and Parmenion will hold the flank? You the hammer, he the rock."

Alexander gives him a sudden brilliant grin, and laughs. "Do you remember that summer?"

Hephaistion laughs himself, feels himself relaxing. "Always strike hard, boys. Nuts under a hammer," he says, and Alexander laughs again. They'd been ten and studying strategy for the first time, and Aristotle had drilled them over and over in the hot sun of Mieza. Even now so many years later, can they still quote his maxims word for word.

Alexander strands and drains his wine. "It was a good summer. You remember Marsyas and the snake, that time?" He shakes his head and laughs softly, eyes bright with the memory, looking down at him. Hephaistion smiles too, and Alexander offers him a hand, pulls him up. They stand together, quiet a moment, the map between them, lost in the sun of summers past. Outside the camp is still; there is the murmur of the guards, a few shuffling footsteps going past, but most of the men are asleep. In the distance, a horse whinnies and falls silent.

"Thank you, brother," says Alexander after a moment. "I am calmer now." Hephaistion says nothing, but smiles, touches Alexander's hand in acknowledgment. For friends such as they words are no longer necessary. "You should go to bed," Hephaistion says. "It was a hard march today."

"I should," says Alexander, but doesn't move. He loosens the thong tying back his hair and runs a hand through it tiredly. "It was a long day. Will you go with the Cavalry tomorrow?"

"Aye, if you wish it," Hephaistion says. "I am yours to command, my Lord." He smiles; it's an old joke between them. Alexander throws back his head and laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement. "That you are, Hephaistion Amyntoros, Philalexandros." His voice is affectionate, his eyes warm.

Alexander is curt with his men and harsh with his generals, Hephaistion knows; he is a hard leader, and demanding. After all, he is King. But this is how Hephaistion sees him, laughing and affectionate, a man who was once a clear-hearted boy who loved his horse and loved to swim. He smiles and clasps Alexander's shoulder, a one-armed soldier's hug; Alexander leans and kisses him on the mouth.

Hephaistion strokes his hair. "I should go, brother," he says. "It was a long march today and will be a long day tomorrow, gods willing."

"Aye, gods willing," Alexander says. He stands, hands at his sides, watching as Hephaistion laces up his sandals. Outside, a bird calls into the night. The candles flicker in a little tongue of wind. Hephaistion looks up, and Alexander is gazing down at him. "Will you not stay, brother?" he asks suddenly, running a hand through his hair. "It's only—the battle tomorrow—"

Hephaistion stands, captures Alexander's hands which are fluttering at his waist. "Of course I will, brother," he says gently, and touches Alexander's cheek. "You have only to ask."

Alexander's hands relax in his; his lips curve up in a smile. "Thank you—Hephaistion," he says.

Hephaistion looks at him, sees the rich weave of his robes that came to him as tribute, sees the rings that glimmer on his thumbs, sees the circlet he wears that marks him King. Even weary and muddy from a long day's ride he is a commanding presence. They call him Great. "You are welcome," Hephaistion says. "Alexander." He smiles.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> In case you're curious, this fic takes place the night before the Battle of Issus, which is where Alexander defeated the Persian King Darius.
> 
> Apparently, I wrote in the original notes to this (2005): "I'd love feedback about this. What I was attempting to convey here was the depth of their friendship and their ease with each other; there weren't meant to be sexual overtones. Seriously, tell me if I succeeded or failed in that... I'm curious! Thanks :) Also... is there too much battle strategy here?"
> 
> It's interesting to me to read that, because in my head, lo these many years later (uploading in 2011) I definitely read this as a pre-slash sort of piece. Either way, I suppose.


End file.
